Petrikov's Golem
by Nonakani
Summary: But he doesn't need the crown to get the details right; she still stands above the snowdrifts. Five sections of exactly 200 words each. ("Holly Jolly Secrets Part 2"/"I Remember You" spoilers.)


i.

The crown directs Simon in casting the spell; it leads his hands as if intertwined with his fingers, and translates the snowfall and frigidity of his own breath into something he can understand and hold. It is the first time in recent memory that their goals have been the same.

But he doesn't need the crown to get the details right. Among all of his memories, obscured more and more as they are buried, she still stands above the snowdrifts.

He creates her in a dress she wore one summer, though carved of ice like the rest of her. Its sleeves run seamlessly into her arms and its collar to the nape of her neck, all part of a single being - even her hair is not quite its own mass.

But she's perfect, he thinks, and breathes once more on her with a puff of powdered snow and magic. The golem shudders, at first, and then lives.

Simon stares at her through what little is left of his glasses, nearly lens-less. The golem gazes at her king, her mouth parting slightly and her expression showing almost nothing.

"Hello, my princess," he finally says, and takes her by the hand.

ii.

He is giddy, spinning in circles around his new Betty, and tells her everything that's happened. They walk through ruins, dusted lightly with snowflakes, as he apologizes so much that his throat is sore. Betty manages a semblance of a smile.

He sees her smile and laughs, uplifted. Still holding her hand, Simon drags his princess to a clearing, a sheet of white that was once an intersection. He bows low to her and ushers her forward.

Betty barely lifts her feet as she steps in front of her king, dragging snow half-sticking to her legs and dress, and leaving a thick trail of visible asphalt behind. Simon notices, and gently steps around Betty. He taps her on the shoulder and places his hands in her's.

"No," he says, and pulls her closer. "Like this."

He leads her through a waltz, step by step, chanting the meter and showing her where and how to move. But Betty struggles: dress melds with leg melds with foot as she tries and fails to match her king's movements, her body a single, glacial form. She shows only slight concern as they finish and still says nothing, but Simon grins and compliments her, regardless.

iii.

Something is terribly wrong.

He can feel it as sure as every inch of ice in the table he made for them to eat dinner at; Betty sits at the opposite end, tall, ornate table decorations made from ice framing her face. Betty looks straight at him, hands crossed in her lap by his own instructions, smiling slightly but doing nothing else. She doesn't even touch the canned vienna sausage he'd so painstakingly prepared.

Simon stops drumming his fingertips against the table and lifts a single sausage from his own plate with an ice fork. "Betty, my princess, aren't you hungry?"

Betty's smile never fades, but she looks down at her plate for a moment before looking back up at her king, unchanged.

Simon sighs, and smirks. "I'll help you, then."

He leans across the table and presses his fork against her mouth. Betty's lips part slightly, but not enough for even a bite to slip through.

Simon's smirk falls from his face. Squinting, he presses the fork harder against her mouth. She remains still, and the fork and sausage slide across her cheek, leaving a dark stain. They slip from Simon's hand, falling to the ground with a clatter.

vi.

He turns suddenly, shoving a photo in Betty's face and holding it there.

"You were supposed to look like _this_," he yells, his face behind the photograph but still inches from her's.

The woman in the photograph is smiling, hands crossed over her chest as if in prayer. Betty starts to lift her arms in imitation, but Simon flings the photo at their feet, stepping over it to grab her by the shoulders.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the last sliver of the lenses in her king's glasses - she looks exactly like the woman, down to the tiniest detail. The glasses' frames fall, too, and Simon's face is contorted with rage despite his tears.

"You made yourself wrong on purpose, didn't you? Just to spite me. You knew it would drive me crazy, completely crazy! But I know what my princess looks like! I know her, more than anybody, anything-"

His grasps her so tightly that she starts to crack.

"But you're not my Betty, you're not! You _hate_ me. My princess doesn't hate me - _she can't hate me, she just CAN'T..._"

He shakes the golem back and forth, barely able to shift her weight, sobbing.

v.

Simon falls to his knees in front of his final unpacked box, ignoring the golem.

Photographs. Far more than he ever remembered owning. He lifts a single photo from the top of the box - a snapshot of a small girl with black hair - and stares at it sadly before making a face like he's eaten something sour.

He throws the photo behind him, followed by many others. The golem, who has not moved from that spot since her king's outburst, finds herself at the center of a pile for discarded things.

Simon gasps, and stands suddenly, a single match in his hand.

The golem's eyes widen. Simon turns, looking at the match, then at the photos, and then at her.

He stares intently at the golem before sighing, and he drops the match at the base of the pile, unlit. He puts the rest of the photos in his backpack and, setting it on his shoulders, begins walking away.

The golem watches her king leave.

She shudders; she is losing form, magic leaking away as the distance between them increases. She also remembers: her king had declared that she hated him.

So she looks at him with contempt.


End file.
